Next Generation One-shots
by HoWeLLiNg
Summary: Just a series of pointless, interconnected drabbles or one-shots about the Next Generation of the Potter!verse.


**A/N: So the only reason I'm posting these one shots is because I already posted something else, and I realized a couple days ago that it was kind of making me a liar to imply in my first A/N that I'd post more and then not to do it. So viola! The first in a series of one-shots I am writing purely with the intention to write an actual story. Right now I'm just fleshing the characters out, getting a feel for how I want them to be, so I apologize in advance for any conflicts in the future. Reviews are appreciated, but please don't sugarcoat. I prefer it when people are frank, that being said I do not appreciate flamers, so if you really feel fiery hat for my stories either contain your hate-gasms or PM me, but please don't review. **

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine, go figure**

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Albus woke up because someone was driving a gutter spike into his head.

He cracked open one eye.

No, that was his doorbell.

With a groan Albus sat up. And then lay right back down. Holy Hogwarts, what was he doing last night?

His doorbell continued its constant ringing, and then to add to the symphony the bastard began to bang their fist on the door. Albus tried the vertical thing again, mildly surprised when he managed to stay up right. He was significantly less impressed with the way the room swam. He was still drunk. And he had a hangover.

Talk about multitasking.

But the "musical" coming from the general vicinity of his front door had finally frayed his nerves to the breaking, "Alright! Alright! Merlin's bloody balls, enough with the noise you wanker," Albus was quite proud of himself; as far as he could tell his words had been for the most part understandable, and the sentence might have even been grammatical.

With an obscene amount of effort for ass o'clock in the morning (a quick glance at the clock on the wall revealed that it was in fact afternoon), Albus managed to haul himself out of bed with only some difficulties, successfully escaping his sheets that had the tendency to cling to him like a needy lover, and stumble his way to the door. By this point the wanker on the other side of said door had resumed filling the flat with an offensive amount of noise, but Albus didn't bother to check who it was; only one person could ring that tortured squeal out of his doorbell.

"Rosie, my least favorite cousin, to what do I owe this unwanted surprise?" He practically sang, opening his door with a flourish and a grin, expecting to see his best-friend smiling back at him.

And so was thoroughly blindsided when he was met with the sight of her wide, chocolate brown eyes filled with tears. She stared at him, water flowing down her cheeks, and Albus had never felt more helpless; if he couldn't handle an emotional female at top-form, he didn't stand a chance when he was so brutally handicapped. Before the floundering Slytherin could even begin to comfort Rose, she shoved her hand in his face, revealing a scrunched scrap of paper that had seen better days clutched tightly between her delicate fingers. He stared at it, uncomprehending, before looking to Rose for answers. She released a small huff of frustration, shoving him roughly aside and inviting herself into his flat, making a beeline for the kitchenette.

"Rose, what's going on?" Albus was used to having all the answers, used to knowing about things before everybody else and was decidedly unsure of how to go about retracting information from his sharp-as-a-blade cousin, who true to her Ravenclaw nature was too smart for even his Slytherin wit.

As it was, the bushy-haired Weasley ignored him, rummaging through his cabinets with easy familiarity. Taking a moment to compose him-self, Albus gently closed his door before cautiously approaching his cousin, who having located the kettle and some cups was busying herself with making tea. Recognizing her nervous habit for what it was, the Potter slowly edged around the kitchenette and headed towards the table on the other side of the sofa, near his bed. The heavy silence in the room was oppressive. Albus restrained the need to fidget as he sat at his small table, eyeing his cousin like she was a wild animal while she finished with the tea. She poured two cups, picked up the packet of cookies she'd fished from who-knows-where and carried everything with her to the table, placed the packet of gingersnaps (their favorite) between them, and set a cup down in front of her cousin before taking a seat in the chair across from him. Her tears had dried, he noted, but her eyes remained red.

"There you go Al, just the way you like it," She watched him carefully as the words left her mouth, clearly looking for something, though Albus had no clue as to what.

"Poisoned no doubt," he quipped, hoping to lessen the mood.

Rose let out a snort, "As if I would waste perfectly good poison that way, you put enough into you yourself."

Albus refrained from flinching at the reminder, feeling the hangover let out a dull throb as if on cue.

"Yes, well… I hope tea isn't the only reason you've dragged me out of bed when I'm still fighting off the effects said poison?" He tentatively tested the waters, hoping she was ready to tell him about what had brought her to his door unannounced and in tears.

No such luck. Rose stared at him, not speaking a word. With a sigh, Albus took a small sip of his tea, humming in appreciation. "You always have preferred tea made by hand."

Albus smiled at Rose beseechingly, hoping to evoke some feelings of pity. She merely continued watching him, and with another sigh, Albus answered her though he knew it hadn't been a question, "Yes, and you and everybody else in the family thinks I'm crazy, but I'm telling you, when you use magic to make tea it doesn't taste the same."

"Don't be ridiculous Al, of course it does," but her words rang hollow, lacking the usual fire present in her voice.

And so the cousins sat there, staring at each other for what felt to Albus like hours, but in reality could only have been a couple of minutes before Rose finally broke the silence; "I've been helping mom with her latest charity, you know. Organizing the donated items and helping with inventory."

He couldn't help but smile, even as upset as she was, just mentioning the work she lived for put a fire in Rose's eyes that had so recently been filled with tears. "I know," Albus replied, "You and Aunt 'Mione talked me into donating my old Hogwarts trunk, remember?"

His words had an unexpected effect on Rose, were as he had been going for a smile her face turned cold and harsh, unreadable. Startled, Albus hesitated; very rarely did he misread his cousin. Taking advantage of his momentary falter Rose reached into her pocket, pulling out the paper she'd waved in Albus' face earlier that day. She placed it on top of the gingersnaps, waiting for his reaction. For his part, Albus still had no clue what the paper had to do with anything despite the fact that now he could tell it was vaguely familiar, but a look from Rose hustled him into action. Deftly retrieving said paper, he began to gingerly unfold it, partly in fear that it might rip and partly in fear of what could cause such a powerful reaction in his cousin.

Albus didn't recognize it at first, merely taking note that all the commotion was about a letter. A suicide note, he realized, as he skimmed through it, dated for their fifth year. And then he was suddenly struck with the alarming awareness to the fact that this was _his _suicide note. The handwriting was messier; more chicken-scratch then the loopy scrawl he wrote in today, but still undeniably his and if he needed more conformation, then the _Albus S. Potter_ signed across the bottom was it. "Shite," he couldn't believe what he was seeing; "I thought I burned this."

"Clearly not Albus, if I found it just earlier today," Rose's words cut through his haze like a hot knife through butter, and Albus paled as he snapped his eyes up to meet hers.

"Rose, its not-," She was quick to cut him off.

"Not what? Not what I think it is? Because I think that's a suicide note, and I'm pretty damn sure I'm right. What the hell, Albus? You always seemed happy in the years leading up to fifth," Her voice was sharp, angry, and her face conveyed what her words couldn't; the complete and utter sorrow and disbelief, the sadness.

It made Albus want to go hide under his covers, it made him hate himself for putting that look on her face. "I… Things changed Rose, you know that. Fifth year was hard, our family was still distant with me, I had almost no friends, and I got involved in some dodgy things. I was in a bad way Rose, but it didn't last, and I've never gone back to that," His words had the opposite effect of what he was hoping, and he watched horrified as tears once again streamed down her face.

"That's not the point Al; do you realize how it felt for me? To find this in_ your_ trunk, with _your name_ on it? It was terrifying, and for a second, all I could imagine was you dead, dead because you killed yourself, and finding this note and reading it and… and…" At this point words began to fail Rose, and she broke down completely, loud, heart-wrenching sobs tearing from her throat.

Albus sprung up from his seat, tipping his chair back in his haste. He ran around the table and yanked Rose up from her chair, engulfing her in his arms and holding her close as she clung to him for support. He could feel the warm water from her tears soaking through his shirt and struggled to hold back his own as he led her gently to the sofa and they collapsed onto its downy pillows. "Albus," Rose managed to gasp out between sobs, "Please promise that if you ever feel like that again, that you'll come to me. Or go to somebody. I don't care, just please promise you'll get help."

"I promise," He murmured to her gently as they curled up on the couch and he gave her all the support she could need.

Later after the tears had stopped and Rose was once again strong, unflappable Rose. Albus remembered that _yeah,_ he was still incredibly hung-over and the world was spinning in ways it wasn't supposed to spin. Practically oozing disapproval, Rose helped Albus back to bed and retrieved his tea and the cookies from the table, placing them on his bedside table. "I have to go," Rose began reluctantly as she rummaged through her endless pockets, "I left on a 30 minute lunch break about…" She checked the time, "An hour ago, mom will be furious."

Albus smiled at Rose as she started to fret, "You'll be fine. Do say hello for me though."

Rose suddenly smiled maliciously at him, causing chills to go down his spine and then dance right back up, "You were supposed to come in and help today, remember?"

Albus' smile fell, "What? No I wasn't, I don't go in till Tuesday!"

"It is Tuesday, O dearest cousin of mine," Rose sang gleefully, clearly enjoying Albus' panic, "Be that as it may, you're in no condition to run into my mother, you need to sober up, get your shit together. Come in later, I'll cover for you."

His relief was tangible, "Thanks."

With a little noise of triumph, Rose finally located whatever she'd been looking for in her pockets, producing a small potions bottle, "And he here is the Pepper-Up Potion. Take a couple sips for the headache, drink your tea, eat your cookies and try to take a nap. If anything exciting happens, I'll come and get you."

She sauntered towards the door, clearly making her grand exit. Albus called after her, "I love you, honey."

Laughing as she opened the door, she looked over her shoulder she called back, "So buy me a mink and a nice pair of earrings for our anniversary."

"You got it."


End file.
